Sonnet 46

  • In patterns, in silhouettes, of palm trees on fire,
  • The constance of yearning through a decade of burning,
  • Ascending pyres for a descendent aspire,
  • Ancestral survival under the guise of learning.
  • And in that constant, ever-present vocation,
  • Meant to forebode and forever boon,
  • A forest lie undiscovered, a kindling placation,
  • Paved towards the horizon, leaves asunder, strewn.
  • In creation, in degradation, born a halation,
  • Light still exists when encased in smoky tombs,
  • A stillness still-facing trepidation,
  • Distilling each moment into invisible wombs.
  • When muses return, lens apertures open,
  • When muses return, pen strokes bolden.

Notes

It's been a rough few years for me, a rough two years for everyone for sure, with the pandemic and associated uncertainty and all. What's less uncertain is my fortune, and presumably my future, given that's been the sole goal of my life thus far. And now mostly achieved, I'm left quite goalless in all aspects: don't know what to write (poetry or prose or code or otherwise), don't know how to strive, don't know what motion to take, where to put forth effort, don't know what to know anymore.

Not necessarily hopeless, I'm quite hopeful actually, just looking for clarity, inspiration, a muse (muses preferably), at least some amusement. A perpetual mid-life crisis, all-life crisis, willingly unrecognized and neglected given the preset course I've been on. I harness zero distaste for my path thus far, a destiny of sorts, a direction I've consciously chosen and the foundation of my existance. But I suppose I always assumed forever continuation with where I've been going, did not expect closure or a fissure or a restart or a deep re-evaluation. But here I am.

A friend put me onto "When Muses Return" by Ten Walls a few months back and while I wasn't ready to listen when introduced, seems I'm ready to listen now on my first full day in Lisbon at Copenhagen Coffee Lab after slapping on proper headphones (Campfire Andromeda SE Golds) and catching a vibe, thus my first successful attempt to write a sonnet in the past two years. Thanks Lynda!

Side technical music note: I bought a pair of AirPods Pro recently for the noise-canceling on flights and convenience and although they sound fine (much better than past Apple earbud iterations) and serve up a very comfortable experience, I finally figured out how to formulate why I hate subpar-to-me music reproduction methods/devices like these meh headphones; these AirPods play songs, the Andromedas play music. You hear songs or you hear music. The former is purely objective against a recorded artifact, the latter is an experience.

On the writing of this piece, started with pen and paper as usual (though still relearning how to physically write again, really out of practice) and whatever I jotted down had far less rhythm and cohesion than what's published above. My mind can meter and iterate faster in my IDE apparently (Visual Code). Not a bad thing, just surprising compared to what I've been able to write and ideate on paper in the past. Might be a red herring though, I didn't write the concluding couplet until I got to that part, which coincided with my spur-of-the-moment decision to play "When Muses Return", and that track put on repeat reframed how I improved every bit of this piece. In many recent-past sonnets, the couplet would arrive sooner than the rest of the quatrains and thus provided the eventual rhythm and structure of the overall piece. Dunno.

— Huy on